


Evidence of Things Not Seen

by Melina



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness, Highlander: The Series
Genre: 19th Century, Character of Faith, Fathers & Sons, Gen, Kindness, Paris (City), Yuletide, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melina/pseuds/Melina
Summary: The priest had a sort of grace about him, a tranquil elegance and serenity that made him seem immediately trustworthy. "You have been here for some time," he said. "You must be cold, kneeling on those stones. I have some tea in the rectory, if you would care to join me?"
Relationships: Darius & Matthew Clairmont, Matthew Clairmont & Marcus Whitmore, Matthew Clairmont & Philippe de Clermont
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Evidence of Things Not Seen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fajrdrako](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/gifts).



> This does have a fairly minor plot spoiler from the books (it's first mentioned in book 1) about something that happened in the past; it doesn't impact the main story. Due to a change made to a character in the TV show (which will become apparent upon reading), it may not come up in the show at all. I've changed some details of it here to avoid other spoilers.
> 
> Although this is a crossover, no knowledge of Highlander is required. All you need to know about Darius is that he really is a priest and he's Immortal. If you want to learn more about his backstory, the episode that introduces him is 1x13, _Band of Brothers_. He's also in _For Tomorrow We Die_ , _The Beast Below_ (you want to skip that one, trust me), _Saving Grace_ , and very briefly in _The Hunters_.
> 
> Thanks so much to [cereta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereta) and [hafital](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafital), beta readers extraordinaire.

Paris, France  
1819

Another day, and Matthew was performing yet another errand from Philippe that a servant could have accomplished. After waiting for more than an hour, he placed his father's letter into the hand of one of King Louis's ministers and departed with haste. Philippe never ran out of ideas as to how the crown should conduct its business, and he was not in the least bit reluctant to share them, frequently and at length.

It had been more than a year since Matthew had returned from America, and the better part of two years since he and Juliette had “culled” –- or, as he admitted to himself, massacred -- Marcus's unruly "family" of misfits and madmen in New Orleans. Philippe had still not quite forgiven Matthew for the entire debacle, and his father's anger was matched only by Marcus's stony silence. Matthew had left New Orleans with his son's promise never to forgive him ringing in his ears; he'd not heard a word from Marcus since.

Upon his return home, Matthew had endured a very uncomfortable interview with Philippe. His father had been livid when he'd learned just how many had been sired into Marcus's erstwhile "family."

"Dozens of them? What possessed Marcus? Was he mad?" Philippe's quiet fury had been more unsettling than an outright loss of temper. "You sired him, Matthew. You're responsible for his actions."

"I took care of it, Father," he’d replied, remaining as calm as he could manage.

"Did you?" Philippe had said, his voice dripping with contempt. "How many went into hiding? How many did you miss?"

"Just a few, and Marcus promised --"

"Marcus promised," Philippe had snorted. "I think we've seen the value of his promises. I hope you made it abundantly clear to him that the next time he steps out of line, _he_ will be the problem you are sent to solve. I know your mother loves him, but if he thinks he can rely on her protection while he ignores orders, he is sorely mistaken. Such disobedience is intolerable." With that, Philippe had turned back to his desk, dismissing Matthew.

That had been that. Except it hadn't been. Since then, Philippe had delegated every piece of trivial work to Matthew, including this cold, wet trip to Paris.

By the time Matthew had delivered the letter, the rain had been pouring for hours, and there was no question of starting the journey back to Sept-Tours that night. Not even his strength and reflexes could keep a horse on its feet through the flood of water and slippery mud on the road, and he had no desire to spend the night soaking wet. Nothing at home was that damned urgent.

By mid-afternoon, he had found a room and stabling for his horse in the Latin Quarter. After spending an hour in his dull chamber, he grew restless, and a glance out his tiny window revealed the rain had lightened somewhat. He decided to walk, perhaps visit Notre-Dame for Vespers, and hunt after nightfall.

Wrapped in his still-damp cloak, he left the inn, walking through the Quarter in no particular hurry. He took the avenue that curved toward the river, intending to cross to the Île de la Cité and Notre-Dame, when he saw it. The unprepossessing little church in the square just south of the river, obviously ancient, its pale stones worn by weather and time.

Without knowing why, Matthew was drawn inside, thoughts of the great cathedral across the bridge deserting him. The heavy wooden door closed behind him, muffling the noise of the street. He had entered in the rear of the church, the nave before him. Rather than pews, old wooden chairs were carefully placed on either side of the aisle.

The church was empty and nearly silent, but he detected a human heartbeat not far away, perhaps in the church, perhaps nearby. But empty or not, the church was well-cared for, not a speck of dirt or dust. Candles in ancient brass holders lit the altar, and wall sconces cast a warm glow on the nave.

Matthew paused to light a votive candle, murmuring a soft prayer for the dead. Leaving some coins in the mite box, he proceeded down the nave, his boot heels clicking loudly in the silence. He ignored the chairs; he didn't sit in church if he was alone, preferring to stand or kneel, as he had before his rebirth.

He crossed himself as he knelt before the altar. Retrieving his beads from his pocket, he softly began the Rosary. As he repeated the prayers, he focused his mind on reverence, allowing mundane concerns to drop away.

Some time later, he finished the Rosary, dropping his beads back into his pocket. Afterward, as was his habit, he sought solace in quiet, meditative prayer. He asked God for the same grace he always sought -- for strength, for forgiveness, and above all, for a chance at redemption.

He had just lifted his head and crossed himself again when he heard a soft voice nearby. "Good afternoon."

Matthew looked up and saw the priest, a Franciscan unless he misjudged, standing nearby, his hands tucked into his sleeves. Rising to his feet, Matthew bowed politely. "Good afternoon, Father."

Smiling warmly, the man nodded in return. He was in his late thirties or thereabouts, with bright blue eyes and brown hair, and a long, angular face. Matthew perceived a sort of grace about him, a tranquil elegance and serenity that made him seem immediately trustworthy. "You have been here for some time," the priest said. "You must be cold, kneeling on those stones. I have some tea in the rectory, if you would care to join me?"

It would be rude to refuse, and something about the priest made Matthew curious. "Thank you, Father," he said.

"Father Darius," he said.

"Matthew," he said, bowing again. "Matthew de Clermont."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur de Clermont," he said warmly. "Please, follow me."

Matthew followed him through a door into the rectory, to a small office that must be the priest's study. The stone walls were unadorned except for the heavy sconces holding tapers of various sizes. A large desk was near the far wall, with papers piled in stacks atop it and an old wooden chair directly behind. Across from the desk was a glowing fireplace and a smaller table holding a chessboard. There were books, books everywhere, books enough to rival his own library at Sept-Tours. Books on shelves, books stacked on the desk, books piled on chairs. Matthew noticed volumes on philosophy, history, and theology, among others.

"Pardon my disorganization," the priest said, somewhat ruefully. "There never seem to be enough hours in the day." He nodded Matthew to one of two guest chairs, and put a kettle over the fireplace. Shifting some books from the other guest chair to a shelf, he sat next to Matthew rather than behind his desk.

"My own study is little better," Matthew admitted.

"Oh? Are you a scholar?" Father Darius asked.

"No," Matthew shook his head. "Well, I study when other duties permit."

"What is your area of study, Monsieur de Clermont?"

"Matthew, please, Father," he said. "I study science and medicine, primarily."

"That sounds fascinating," he said. "Is it something you would like to devote more time to?"

"I would," Matthew admitted, with more than a hint of longing in his voice. "But my family is very...traditional, and family matters must take precedence."

"What matters occupy your family, if I might inquire?" he asked.

"Politics, mostly. And war. I have been a...soldier for most of my life." He had almost said "warrior."

"War is a great tragedy," said Father Darius, "So much loss of life. I pray we have finally entered a period of peace after such prolonged war." He went to the fireplace, returning with a teapot and cups on a tray, which he set on his desk. Pouring, he said, "I'm afraid I don't have any milk, but I can scour up some sugar, if you'd like."

Shaking his head, Matthew said, "No, I prefer it without sugar or milk, thank you." Father Darius handed him a cup, and he nodded his thanks. "I pray we will have peace now as well."

Returning to his chair, Father Darius smiled at him warmly. "I hope you do not mind me saying so, but when I saw you in the church, you seemed troubled," he said. "Is there anything I can do for you, Matthew?"

His voice was so kind, and his concern so genuine, that Matthew was sincerely moved. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him with such care and warmth. Dismissing the priest's question would have been easy, but he found that he didn't want to. He couldn't tell the whole truth, either, but he could tell the essence of it.

Gathering his thoughts, Matthew sipped his tea before speaking. "Not long ago, I had to do something that was very hurtful to my son, on my father's orders. My father was not wrong, but I regret it had to be done, and that it caused my son such pain. Neither of them has really forgiven me."

"It's certainly understandable why that would be very painful for you," Father Darius said, his voice compassionate. "You say that neither your father nor your son has forgiven you. Have you forgiven yourself?"

Matthew was uncertain how to answer. "I have asked God for forgiveness," he said.

"And if you have confessed, and been absolved, then God has forgiven you," Father Darius replied with certainty. "But that was not what I asked. Have you forgiven yourself?"

No, of course he hadn't; he was still blaming himself. If he'd been a better father to Marcus, if he'd spent more time with him after his rebirth before turning him over to the care of others, perhaps things might have been different. "No," he admitted, shaking his head.

"If God has forgiven our sins," Father Darius said, "then who are we to hold ourselves to standards higher than His?"

Matthew frowned; he understood what the priest was saying, but he had never been very good at forgiving himself. He was still blaming himself for events that had happened in the far more distant past.

"Confession and absolution are at the very heart of church teachings, Matthew. An essential part of God's promise of everlasting life."

That was the very crux of it, wasn't it? Matthew's breath caught in his throat. "Perhaps that's just it," he whispered, looking down at his teacup. "I do not believe I'll ever be granted such grace, no matter how much I pray or confess."

His voice soft, Father Darius asked, "Why is that, Matthew?"

"Long ago, I tried to take my own life out of despair," Matthew said quietly. "My wife and son had died, and I no longer wanted to live. I...failed," he said, "but I made the attempt just the same."

"I am so sorry for your loss," Father Darius said, his voice full of sorrow and empathy.

"After I failed," Matthew said, "I believed that God kept me alive because He did not want me."

"Of course he wants you, Matthew," Father Darius said with conviction. "You are His child, just as your wife and your son are His children. But it was not yet your time. You had more left to do."

He sounded so certain that Matthew almost believed him, but the feelings of guilt and misery had been with him for so long, almost since the very moment of his rebirth. It was not easy just to let them go.

Studying Matthew intently, Father Darius was silent for a long moment. "Attempting suicide is a grave sin, but it is not one from which repentance is impossible. God understands the pain you felt, Matthew. He would not deny you heaven because of it."

Bending forward in his chair, Matthew looked down at his hands, hands that had built, and killed, and healed. "I've done so much," he said, his voice low with pain. "I've killed. I've hurt people I loved. And people I've loved have died because of me."

"Have you confessed? With penitence in your heart?"

Closing his eyes for a long moment, he said, "I have tried. It is...difficult." How could he truly confess when he could never be completely honest, never tell a priest the entire truth?

Father Darius reached across and put his hand over Matthew's. "Confess now, Matthew. Clear your conscience."

Matthew didn't know if he should to laugh or weep. "I am not sure you have that much time, Father," he said wryly.

Offering a wry smile of his own, Father Darius said, "I have as much time as you need."

Why shouldn't he? He had never been able to confess to a human priest, not really. For most of his life, priests had been as uneducated, provincial, and superstitious as their flocks. But there was something about Father Darius, something he couldn't quite name, that persuaded Matthew he was different.

"I would like to confess," Matthew said tentatively. "But there is something you should know."

"You're a _wearh_ , or _manjasang_ , if you prefer," Father Darius said. "I knew when I touched your hand. No human is that cold."

Matthew looked up sharply. "You know of us," he said.

"I have for some time," Father Darius said, "and I have no intention of divulging your secret. I am well aware of what can happen when men are forced to face what they do not understand. I would not have your kind suffer as the witches have." He added, "The confessional is sacred. I would not reveal what was said there upon pain of death."

Closing his eyes for a long moment before meeting Father Darius's steady gaze, Matthew decided to trust him. "I would like to confess," he said again, this time with certainty.

Nodding, Father Darius stood and retrieved his stole, kissing it before setting it on his shoulders. "We can stay here, or move to a confessional, if you wish."

Shaking his head, Matthew said, "There is no need."

"Very well." Father Darius sat, and made the sign of the cross. "Trust in God, Matthew."

Matthew knelt at his side. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he began. Over the next hour, he told Father Darius everything. From his death following his suicide attempt, to his rebirth, to Eleanor and Bernard, to Cecilia, and everything in between, from his role in his family to the dark times when he had killed humans to feed. Finally, he told Father Darius about Marcus and his children in New Orleans, the ones he had slain himself and the many more brutally slaughtered by Juliette.

"Do you repent of your sins?" Father Darius asked softly.

"I do, Father," Matthew said, his voice hitching in his throat.

"Though it is what we must strive for, a life without sin is impossible," he said. "Perhaps for your kind more than most. I understand your ties of fealty to your family, and the discipline you must keep amongst yourselves to protect your secret. All God can ask is that you try, that you strive to protect the innocent, and find a way to make the world a better place. That is your true penance."

Matthew could almost hear Philippe's voice from long ago, at a time when things had been less fraught between them. _"You cannot save the world or everyone in it, but you must find a way to make a difference. It is what our kind was put on earth to do."_ And hadn't the Knights of Lazarus been formed to protect those who could not protect themselves? A shiver slid down his spine.

"I shall find a way, Father." Taking a breath, he began the Act of Contrition. _"Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet..."_

When he finished, Father Darius gently placed his hand on Matthew's bowed head. _"Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo..."_

For the first time since his rebirth so long ago, Matthew did not simply hear the words in his ears, he felt forgiveness in his heart. Something deep inside him broke open, a welling of emotion he hadn't felt in centuries, and he wept softly into his hands. He wept for all of them, for everyone he'd killed, for all of those who had died because of his failings, and, finally, for himself and everything he had lost.

"Be at peace, Matthew," Father Darius said softly, handing him a handkerchief. Drawing Matthew from his knees and back into the chair, Father Darius poured him more tea. "God has forgiven you, and you are in a state of grace. Now you must learn to forgive yourself."

~~~~~

Father Darius went to say evening mass, and Matthew went to listen, along with a scattershot of other worshipers. He took communion, and for the first time in a very long while, he did so without reservation and with an open heart. When he prayed, Matthew asked God to help him find forgiveness within himself, and a way forward, to learn to live with the past.

They spoke again afterwards, and Matthew took his leave. Father Darius walked him out into the churchyard, and Matthew saw the rain had finally stopped. "Father...I can't begin to say..." he began.

Smiling warmly, Father Darius put his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "You do not have to thank me. It is why I am here," he said, and Matthew knew he didn't mean it was why he was a priest, or at this church tonight. It was why Father Darius was _here._

"May I come see you again, when I am in Paris?" he asked.

"Of course, Matthew, you are always welcome." Father Darius met Matthew's eyes for a long moment. "Try to make peace with your father. Your heart will be lighter for it."

"And my son?" he asked, his voice heavy with sorrow.

His expression melancholy, Father Darius said, "That will take longer, I fear. Give him time," he said, pausing a moment. "My sense is that you've always kept Marcus at a distance. There was a time when you had to be his teacher and keep him at arm's length, but he's old enough now that you can be his father. Let him get to know you, to understand you. He will find it easier to forgive."

"How did you become so wise?" Matthew asked, his tone light, but he was not truly jesting.

Father Darius smiled enigmatically. "The next time I see you, perhaps we will speak of it," he said. He touched Matthew's head lightly in blessing. "Peace be with you, my child. Go with God."

Matthew bowed farewell, and Father Darius went back inside the church. Feeling more at peace than he had in centuries, Matthew decided to leave for home at daybreak, to see Philippe and make things right between them. And for once and for all, he knew, he had to sever ties with Juliette. She brought out the worst in him, not the best, and it was time to let her go, to let her find happiness with someone else.

He looked back over his shoulder at the modest little church, wondering at the grace he had found there this day, and decided not to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. _"You must find a way to make a difference. It's what our kind was put on earth to do."_ Matthew was determined to follow his father's advice, and Father Darius's. Their paths would never be his own, but he would find his, somehow.

He had faith that he would.

**Author's Note:**

> "[F]aith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."  
> \-- Hebrews 11:1


End file.
